You, Me, And The Rabbits
by tigers-snipers-and-rifles
Summary: If 'Of Mice and Men' had had an altered ending - based on original ideas, however, some may be loosely taken from the novel. Warnings for strong language content.


Across the Salinas River it was quiet and still, all but for the exception of a dragonfly that occasionally skimmed the water and hovered over a stem of grass, or for a frog that emerged from the murky waters to plant itself on the banks in the setting sun. It would be dusk soon; the time when the nocturnal creatures and waterfowl came out of hiding.

A shade was settling over the still waters, until a hand plunged into it, causing ripples and sunlight to dance across the surface. Scooping it up in his overly sized paw, Lennie threw it over his face and neck in an attempt to cool himself from the ever powerful heat that beat down over the small clearing. He sat back then and helplessly curled in on himself, bringing his knees up to his chest and hugging them in a way of comforting himself; anything to distract himself from the raging thoughts.

"I done a bad thing," he said quietly with a small whimper. "I done a very bad thing an' now George won't let me tend no rabbits. God damn he won't."

He repeated the same sentence over and over until it stuck with him. "I done a bad thing."

His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of rustling nearby. Lennie's head jerked toward the source of the sound, only to find none other than George appearing as if from nowhere. "George!" Lennie cried gleefully, his face contorting into an expressionless mask just as quickly when he noticed the look George was giving him.

"Keep it down, Lennie. Do ya want to attract attention?" George snapped, frowning deeply as he seated himself on the grass beside the taller man. Lennie lowered his head in shame of himself and there was silence for a while. After a few minutes, Lennie spoke in a voice that was almost inaudible.

"George?"

"Yeah, what ya want?"

"You gonna give me hell now, aren't ya, George?" He asked miserably.

"No." George replied in an emotionless tone.

Lennie only then glanced up at him. "You ain't gonna give me hell?"

"I jus' said." George retorted impatiently. Lennie let his gaze fall to the grass again.

"Tell how it's gonna be, George. About the alfalfa and rabbits." Lennie requested in order to change the topic of conversation.

George sighed, defeated. "We gonna get a little place. We'll have a cow, maybe some chickens."

"An' rabbits, George," Lennie interrupted, his face breaking into a delighted smile. "Don' forget the rabbits. I get to tend 'em."

"You get to tend 'em." George agreed with a half-hearted smile. He continued, "We'll have a vegetable patch an' hutches for them damn rabbits a' yours. An' a stove. In the winter when it rains we'll say the hell with work and we'll build a fire an' sit around it."

Going to stand, George brushed himself down and held out a hand to help Lennie up. Just as the bigger man latched onto him, a shot rang out. Lennie jolted and collapsed, the sheer force of his grip bringing George down with him.

"I knew you was with him." Curley's voice sounded as he approached with shotgun in hand, Slim and Carlson dogging his heels.

"It ain't like that," George argued. "I done nothin' to your wife." His attention was pulled away when a pained moan came from Lennie. He still had hold of George's hand and was clinging onto it tightly.

"George." He choked out, his huge form trembling. "George, 'am bleedin', George." Lennie rasped.

"Jesus Christ!" George looked to where he had been shot. The bullet had pierced Lennie's side, where blood was now forming and spreading along the fabric of his clothing. Lennie whined, tightening his grip on George's hand. "You'll be awright, Lennie," He tried to reassure him, helplessly looking to the other three men before his eyes rested on Curley. "You son-of-a-bitch!"

"He hadda." Slim muttered a response.

"You gonna be okay," George turned back to Lennie, ignoring the excruciating pain in his hand. "Jus' think a' our little place, Lennie. We gonna have a couple a' acres an' alfalfa an' even a horse if ya want, yeah? Jus' me an' you. 'Cause I look after you an' you look after me, remember? We'll live off the fatta the lan'."

Lennie nodded weakly, his grip slowly loosening on George's hand. "I - I jus' wanted to... to tend the rabbits, George."

Lennie's hand slipped and his shapeless body went limp in George's arms. Once large, pale and lively eyes settled on him, now lifeless. George stared back, unable to make himself pull away until Slim placed a hand on his shoulder to console him.

"It hadda been done for his own good."

"Yeah," George nodded, his face a blank mask. "Yeah."

* * *

Rubbing the sweat from his brow with a piece of cloth, the small man walked along the bank and allowed his eyes to rake over the familiar pool and trees that surrounded it with a soft smile. Within his arms he carried a small bundle of blankets and upon reaching the correct spot, he removed his hat, one hand carefully running along the bark of the tree, feeling his way until he came to the engraving.

The name had been cut into the wood with a simple pocketknife, the lettering clumsy, but still readable:

Lennie

George smiled fondly and pulled his hand away. "Jus' thought I'd stop by," he began. "Old Candy woulda come but he got other things, so it jus' me. Thought you might wanna hear about the place. You always did like that, Lennie. Always askin' me to tell ya. Well, ever'thing goin' great. We gotta horse, like I said we was gonna do. Candy gotta pup too. Named it Lennie."

He crouched and placed the blankets on the ground at the base of the trunk. "Was gonna give you this," he unwrapped the bundle to reveal a small, limp rabbit. Shovelling some of the earth, he placed it in the hole and covered it again with the dirt. "Fox got it. An' it gives you somthin' to pet while you down there."

Bringing himself to his feet, George replaced his hat, ran his fingers over the tree once more, and left.


End file.
